


my fair lady

by astarisms



Series: natan week 2019 [2]
Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: Bridge - Freeform, F/M, Introspection, Prompt Fic, Reflection, So here's this, ah well, and i wanted to put a spin on the bridge prompt, i like writing lucifer reflecting on how much natalie has changed his life, not so much on paper, this idea was brilliant in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 09:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: the bridge has already burned and fallen down, but she will rebuild it.





	my fair lady

Lucifer does not sleep, and so he does not dream. Not like humans. 

Instead, in his quieter moments, he relives his own memories, the ones that would keep him up at night if he could sleep. He has many regrets in his immortal life, and they are unwilling to release their grip on him, to let him go a day without the reminder of all the ways he has failed, despite his triumphs. 

The memories are always so vivid, he almost forgets that they have already happened, that he is not living them anymore. 

He tastes the ash on his tongue. He hears the clash of weapons and the roars of betrayal. He smells the blood and the burning. He sees the chaos he incited all around him. 

He feels the mind numbing pain of Michael tearing his wings off, the white hot agony of nerves and muscle and tissue being rent from his back. 

The memory of his family is so heavily corrupted with this instance and everything that followed that Lucifer has spent millenia avoiding them or otherwise losing his temper. 

He had not wanted a war, but Michael’s pride had not allowed him and his followers to leave Heaven without one. Lucifer resents him for it, and he resents him even more for the fact that he aches when he remembers the brother he once had. 

A quiet whisper of his name has him looking up, into Natalie’s drowsy eyes. She rubs the sleep from them and sits up, recalling memories that are not hers and have no business playing behind her eyelids. 

_It’s been too long_, he thinks of their contract, but Natalie is looking at him in concern, squinting in the dark. He waves her off, telling her to go back to sleep, trying to swallow his own panic. If she can see this, what else can she see? What else can she feel? 

He tries to play it off as a fluke. He does not want to think of the implications of this.

But Natalie is never one to let things rest, and in the morning she’s uncharacteristically quiet, sneaking glances at him her entire walk to school. He knows it’s coming, and he has a snappish response ready on the tip of his tongue, but of all the things he expected her to say about his memories, what comes out of her mouth is not one of them. 

“They still love you, you know,” she says, softly as they reach the front steps. She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and continues before he can hide his shock, “otherwise Michael wouldn’t use me as an excuse to see you so often. Gabriel and Ralph wouldn’t have helped after Oregon.”

Finally getting his expression under control, he scowls at her, a warning in his voice when he tells her, “don’t speak of what you don’t know, kid.”

Natalie shrugs, because he’s never really listened to her and she doesn’t expect him to now, not on something like this. 

“Whatever you say. But I can tell. Maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet.”

She says it like it’s so easy, but she doesn’t stick around to hear his indignant response, instead turning and disappearing up the stairs with a wave goodbye. 

He’s not surprised, of course. With how diligently she forgives, he thinks she might have been a saint, had she not sold her soul to the Devil. But as much as he would like to shake off her words, to hold onto that resentment towards his family that has festered for centuries, he finds he can’t.

He wonders if there’s any truth to them, and if so, how someone as dense and painfully oblivious as Natalie had been the one to pick up on his brothers’ intentions.

_Otherwise Michael wouldn’t use me as an excuse to see you so often._

Lucifer can’t deny that he has seen Michael more in the months he’s been contracted with Natalie than he has in centuries. 

He looks up sharply, at the spot Natalie disappeared inside the school, his brow furrowed deep in thought. The idea that Natalie has been a glorified excuse for his brother to come to earth so often is absurd.

And yet… he would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t noticed that Natalie did not always commanded Michael’s full attention, though Lucifer usually attributed that to Michael’s plotting.

Shocked at the revelation, Lucifer finds himself staring once more at Natalie’s school. Not for the first time, he wonders at her, at this human who by all appearances is not anything special. How then, has she managed to affix herself so closely to him that she has the answers he has been searching centuries for? 

He thinks back on what she said, on how unlikely it was that he would have seen his siblings at all if not for her interference. 

_Prophecy child_, some part of him whispers, but he shakes it off. Prophecy child or not, she has done something extraordinary.

For the first time in centuries, she has connected him to his family again, however unwillingly.

Natalie McAllister has bridged Heaven and Hell. 

For that, he doesn’t know if he should thank her or shake her, even if he feels a little lighter for it.


End file.
